


The middle of our story has already begun

by elliceluella



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Just all the fluff, Matt is a smol puppy and Foggy knows it, Pre-Canon, and some feels here and there, hot chocolate too, warm hugs abound when the Nelsons are around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5408255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliceluella/pseuds/elliceluella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>An impressed whistle. "Damn. I hate to admit it but you were right, Foggy," Candace said once the door closed. "Forlorn burrito indeed," she murmured.</i><br/><i>Matt couldn't help the heat that flooded his cheeks. Why hadn’t any of the nuns back at St Agnes told him about this extra circle of hell which was clearly labelled “EMBARRASSMENT” in gaudy, neon letters?</i><br/>"What exactly did you write in those emails of yours, Foggy?" he muttered.</p><p> <br/>In which one little avocado meets another, and their bromance is so deeply coated in awesome-sauce that it spawns several stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kismet

**Author's Note:**

> Just a pure, unapologetic fluff fest written for this [prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/3230.html?thread=7429534#cmt7429534) on the kinkmeme.

He could still remember that proud face, the one that beamed when he’d come home with A’s on his report card, the one that was always accompanied with a “good job, Matty” and a hair ruffle. That was the face he pictured as he got off the bus, because Battlin’ Jack Murdock would’ve been very proud that his son had made it to law school. The sweater kept him warm, but he hated how the skin on his neck was starting to feel prickly and weird from the chill that had already crept into the early fall air. He really should’ve worn a scarf. It didn’t help that his heightened senses amplified everything else either.

He hefted his bag and adjusted the strap on his shoulder before walking through the gates, breathing in the bustle and anticipation but refusing to let it overwhelm him. Thirty minutes and a brief, unofficial guide of the campus (from an overly polite second year student) later, he made it to room three-twelve. Or at least he hoped it was, since the numbers on the doors were printed on flat, plastic plates but he’d insisted that he could take it from here once they’d reached the third floor.

Matt stood outside the room for a good few seconds, not knowing how to feel about sharing a room with someone since he’d managed to get by in college without one. And sure, it wasn’t like he had a whole room to himself at St. Agnes, but this was different. He resisted the urge to fiddle with the strap on his cane, then raised his hand to knock on the door before stopping short.

“So what if they’re running on the horribly unfair basis of fastest finger first? You can do this, Nelson. Come on,” said the voice on the other side of the door. Matt could hear his roommate clacking away on his laptop, probably enrolling for classes. “God damn it! Come on! Load. Load!”

*

Foggy liked to think that he was a generally chill guy. Being a frequent target of bullies in elementary school quickly forced him to wear humor and good-nature like a shield. He learned to roll with the punches, figuratively and literally. Apparently ‘stop, drop, and roll’ proved to be handy beyond the scope of putting out fire. Over the years, he’d honed his humor and easygoing nature so much that it became a part of him, a Foggy Nelson trademark.

That aside, Foggy was far from chill when enrollment became less about getting psyched about classes and more about competition. It was only his second day at Columbia, he was still settling in, and the wifi seemed to be in a pissing contest with a snail. So slow that he’d already lost spots in two classes he’d _really_ wanted, one of which belonged to women’s studies, because reasons (no but really, he was legit interested in that class).

He kept his fingers crossed for getting into Punjabi, because he’d met a girl the day before at the campus cafe who couldn’t stop gushing over how excited she was to learn the language. She was the most beautiful girl he’d seen in like, ever.

 _This sucks_ , Foggy thought bitterly, because starting law school on such a downer, well, sucked. The knock on his door did little to jar him from his surly thoughts. “What?” He winced the moment his gruff reply left him. He really didn’t mean to sound so curt, but the disappointments and frustrations of enrollment was beginning to grate on him.

“Excuse me, is this-is this room three-twelve?” “Yeah, who you looking for?” Foggy asked, then wanted to kick himself once he looked up and saw the white cane that accompanied the um— there was no other way to say this, Foggy had tried or at least he wanted to, but then he got distracted— good looking visitor.

The expression Foggy got in response wasn’t so much about taking umbrage at what he’d said as it was a mixture of a cringe and a smirk. “Oh. Uh, sorry,” Foggy apologized nonetheless.

“What for?”

*

Oh, Matt liked his roommate already. He was the first person here who didn’t treat him like he was completely helpless, and he had a warm voice. Once Foggy (what an odd name, Matt thought with a smile) realized his roommate was the same boy he’d read about in the papers when he was a kid, he called him a hero. Which made Matt feel very weird, since he felt like he was the furthest thing from a hero. Particularly because he turned a deaf ear to the screams and cries for help that rang out from the streets every night.

But then he also acknowledged that Matt wasn’t made of glass and said some nice things about his appearance, which felt kind of good, although he didn’t quite know what to do with that comment about the whole wounded handsome duck thing.

They- or Foggy, rather- talked about girls and wingman-ing and Maverick and Goose, especially after Matt figured out Foggy’s primary reason for applying to Punjabi. Not that he blamed him, though. Girls tended to smell better than guys. And how was it that their skin always felt so smooth?

Foggy brought up Maverick and Goose again and Matt couldn’t for the life of him figure out why anyone would want to be his friend after only knowing him for a couple of minutes. It didn’t matter, though. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake he did with Stick. He wasn’t going to get over-attached to someone again because people always left.

“Oh hey, before we leave, do you have any more stuff downstairs? I could help bring them up,” Foggy offered, just as they were about to head out for coffee (they both knew it was going to be less about the coffee and more about scouting for luscious coeds).

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. This is everything,” he gestured at his duffle bag.

“You managed to fit everything into one bag?” Foggy sounded a little sad and Matt didn’t like the odd little twang that happened in his chest.

“Yeah,” he said, doing an awkward shuffle with his feet.

“Oh.” Foggy cleared his throat and Matt heard Foggy’s hair brushing against his cardigan as he shook his head. “Alright then. Shall we?” the usual pep was back in his voice.

They ended up spending the better part of their afternoon walking around campus, Foggy proving to be an excellent guide with his colorful descriptions of landmarks and people. Matt couldn’t remember the last time he smiled so much.

*

Foggy watched as Matt unpacked everything in all of five minutes after their dinner of hot wings and pizza. He turned to look at his stack of plastic boxes against the wall, still full of stuff before turning back to Matt. Admittedly no one in his family was a light packer, but Matt? Suffice to say he transcended light packer status to a whole other plane. He was something else entirely.

Foggy looked at Matt’s bare shelf and bit his lip. He’d only just met the guy and he wasn’t going to pry, but an itch had already began to settle in, the kind that made him want to warp Matt up a blankets, feed him cookies and coo softly while patting his head. It also didn’t help that Matt always looked kind of lost and sad whenever he wasn’t smiling. Ah, screw it. He took a breath.

“Wow, I could really learn a thing or two from you about organized packing,” Foggy’s soft chuckle lasted a second too long, a cringe-worthy overcompensation for his nerves.

“It’s all about the bare necessities, really,” Matt grinned, a little confused. _Here goes nothing_ , Foggy steeled himself.

“Hey, I know this might sound weird, but, do you like dinosaurs?”

“Yeah, I think they’re pretty cool. Why?”

“I _miiight_ have miscalculated the size of our room a smidge, so I, uh, still have a ton of stuff that I won’t be able to fit. I was wondering— only if you’re OK with it, of course— if I could put some of my very cool and totally _not-kiddy_ dinosaur figurines on your shelf? And don’t worry,” Foggy rushed on, “I’m a huge believer in playing and fiddling with toys. None of that snooty collector nonsense. In fact, most of their paint’s either chipped off or faded ‘cause I’ve been playing with them since I was twelve. You wanna feel them?”

“Sure,” Matt said, and Foggy could hear the smile creeping into his voice. “And yeah, we can put them on my top shelf.”

Foggy spent the rest of the evening describing each figurine and recounting stories about them while Matt felt along their tails, claws and ridges, before finally arranging them on his shelf.

Making friends and launching into conversations had always been pretty easy for Foggy, but with Matt, as closed off and quiet as he seemed, it felt real genuine real fast, as if he was meant to be here.

As if it was kismet.

Four days. Four days was all that Foggy could take, seeing his roommate sleep on a spartan bed consisting of a single, very sad looking pillow and a thin blanket.He offered Matt his extra throws and pillows because he couldn’t stomach the sight any longer. When Matt politely declined (which Foggy had expected, since he’d come to learn that Matt was incredibly independent and almost seemed proud that he could survive on the bare minimum), Foggy concocted another half-assed excuse about feeling like a guilty hoarder.

Matt, of course, gracefully obliged after that, and ended up with a total of three pillows and two throw blankets (He drew the line at a neck pillow that had bunny ears and a poofy tail).

“Maybe we could build a pillow and blanket fort,” Matt mumbled sleepily as he burrowed his face into his (Foggy had zero intentions of taking them back after he saw how Matt nuzzled into them) pillow that night.

“You just read my mind, buddy,” Foggy yawned.

*

If that first day walking around campus was any indication, Foggy Nelson was a great guide. Matt half expected Foggy to grow tired of him once the novelty of rooming with a blind person waned, but Foggy only got more cheery. He happily stuck his arm out for Matt all the time, gave excellent directions everywhere they went and he even made sure his stride matched Matt’s.

Matt was aware of how much he was beginning to enjoy Foggy’s company and how much he looked forward to hearing about Foggy’s day. He was also aware of what Foggy was trying to accomplish those first few days, with the dinosaur figurines and the pillows. He told himself that he only accepted them because he didn't want to seem rude when Foggy had been nothing but nice to him, plus Foggy had seemed so nervous it was kind of endearing to the point that Matt found it physically impossible to say no.

If Matt was being really honest with himself though, there was a part of himself that liked being cared for. It made him feel like he mattered to someone. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had shown any concern for him like that that it almost felt foreign.

Matt would never admit it out loud though, because liking to be cared for meant that he was dependent on others, and dependence was _as good as cowering behind your mother’s skirt_. Matt shuddered. He could still hear Stick’s voice sometimes.

Perhaps, he bargained, it wouldn't really be counted as dependence if he helped Foggy too- it would be more like a…collaborative partnership. Yeah, just like that. He could help Foggy study better and maybe teach him how to look out for himself, while Foggy acted as his eyes around campus and helped Matt see the world the way he painted it.

See, it wouldn't be dependence if you gave as much as you took, right? Maybe that was what friendship (the word made him pause and swallow hard) was about. Maybe it wasn't too late to start being a friend— but only in the most casual, non-clingy way, of course. Just in case Foggy wanted to leave.

All this was relatively new terrain to Matt since he never had many friends, even before the accident. Between having his nose in a book all the time and avoiding bullies, it was hard to make a friend, let alone keep one.

Matt used to be pretty close to Carl Bradlee who lived down the block, but then he really got into basketball and Matt’s dad wouldn’t let him join Carl to shoot hoops, so Carl eventually drifted away to his basketball buddies. He remembered the seething resentment he felt towards his books and dad at that time.

Things were slightly different in St Agnes— he made several friends there, but there was always this unspoken sense that they could be “taken away” at any moment, so none of the kids bothered to form deep bonds with each other.

Which left Stick. Stick would scoff if he knew Matt used to think of him as a friend (and a father figure), but it wasn’t like he had anyone else in his life. So yeah, Matt knew he had a pretty shitty record when it came to having and keeping friends, but he was willing to learn and willing to try.

He was willing to try, because this was _Foggy_ , the first good friend he’s had in a long time, who spent the first night they met tossing and turning because he felt bad that Matt only had a thin blanket and one pillow, Foggy who was on the furthest end from Stick on the asshole spectrum.

A familiar pang of guilt had started to creep in- the one that usually arose whenever he decided to go for something he desired, only this time Matt reasoned his way out of it by telling himself that this was the first nice thing that didn’t make him soft or weak.

On the contrary, he felt lighter and clearer and just, _better_ , when he was around Foggy. He liked spending time with Foggy not just because Foggy cared for him, but because he liked who he was when Foggy was around. Matt liked to think that perhaps, this was the person he would have been if the accident never happened, if his dad was still around.

He liked how his own laughter sounded when Foggy said something funny— it was genuine and unguarded and it reminded him of a better time, a simpler time, when he was seven and wide-eyed and his dad would get into tickle fights with him. They’d laugh so hard their sides hurt, and Matt would be out of breath, panting and ruddy cheeked.

Most of all, Matt liked what Foggy brought out in him. He spent several years thinking it had died along with his dad, and the next few years thinking maybe it wasn’t dead but broken beyond repair. But he was wrong. Hanging with Foggy had proved that much, because it was back. It was faint, almost like a small flame flickering on a windy night, but it was back.

Hope was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for thanksgiving! Feels! Christmas! Tipsy face touching! and more! (Someone please take all the exclamation marks away from me)


	2. “All I heard was ‘smother alert’”

“Have a great thanksgiving,” Matt said cheerfully and waved.

Foggy sighed quietly, hand still on the doorknob. Something about Matt’s deliberately vague plans for the holiday ate at him, but he didn’t want to push because Matt seemed like the type who didn’t do well with too much overt persuasion.

“You sure you don’t wanna come along? We always cook a ton of stuff, plus Nana— heck, my whole family actually— would love to meet and feed you. Probably in that order, but you never know. Nelson thanksgivings have been known to be pretty unpredictable. You wouldn’t be imposing at all,” he said. Never mind that it showed all over his face, Foggy tried to keep the concern out of his voice. He didn’t want Matt to feel like it was a pity invitation, because it really wasn’t.

“Nah, that’s OK Foggy. Thanks for the invitation, though,” Matt said with his usual half smile.

“Oh,” Foggy looked down at his shoes. “Alright then, I’ll see you in a few days. Call me if you need anything, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” he half-joked.

“I’ll be OK, Foggy. Try not to miss me too much,” Matt grinned wryly.

 _Don’t die_ , was what Foggy really wanted to say (Matt stumbled back into their room late one night with a cut lip but gave nothing more than a mumbled “tripped on the stairs” when Foggy asked), but there was no way to say that without sounding weird so he settled for a chuckle before shutting the door.

Thanksgiving was just like Foggy expected: it was busy and noisy and fun with a good amount of indigestion and gas thrown into the mix because hey, it wasn’t a Nelson thanksgiving until you overate. Still, Foggy found himself distracted, laughing half as much as he usually did. He fiddled with his fork for a minute before finally pulling his phone out.

 _Happy thanksgiving, buddy. You doing OK?_ \- Foggy

“Who’re you texting?” Candace, his ever-curious sister, asked.

“Matt.”

“Why?”

“Just wanted to check and see if he was OK.”

She shook her head. “You really need to tone down on the mother-henning.”

“What? I’m not— Did you not hear me say ‘wounded handsome duck’ the first time round? The guy always looks like he’s hug-starved or something. I swear, if I stare at him for too long I can actually _feel_ my eyes start to water. I’ve never seen such a good looking dude so sad before.”

“All I heard was ‘smother alert’,” Candace snorted.

“Whatever,” Foggy grumbled as he shoved more peas into his mouth. His phone buzzed a few minutes later.

 _Happy thanksgiving, Foggy. Don’t worry, I’m good. Send my regards to your family._ \- Matt

Well at least Matt’s text proved he wasn’t lying dead in a gutter somewhere. It wasn’t until a knot in his stomach loosened that Foggy realized it was even there. It didn't matter that Matt was a fully grown adult who could act all confident and charming when he wanted to, because somewhere down the line worrying about his roommate had become almost second nature to him.

His mum and grandmother was only too happy to pack a hearty portion of leftovers for Matt after his parents told the rest of his relatives about his melancholic and stubbornly independent puppy of a roommate who had a tendency to push Foggy’s nurturing into overdrive (They didn’t need to say that last part out loud, because Nelsons had telepathic nurturing instincts. All except for Candace, whose lack of anything nurture-related was more than compensated for by her brother’s knack for it).

“Mmm. —ishreallgoo—”

“Whoa, slow down, buddy. The food’s not gonna vanish into thin air.” The speed at which Matt was scarfing down Nana’s shepherd's pie made him want to weep.

“Sorry,” Matt paused to wipe his mouth with his sleeve. “This is really good. I’ve never tasted anything so good before,” Matt said, with a blissed out look that Foggy could only describe as ‘this is the most delicious and precious thing in the world’ or, an extended food orgasm.

“Yeah. Nana’s shepherd’s pie tends to have that effect especially if you’re having it for the first time,” Foggy commented. The longer he watched Matt chow down happily, the further a deeply unsettling feeling wormed a hole into his chest.

Foggy was more than relieved when he returned after the holidays to find Matt in their room, not dead (thank goodness), reading a book on his bed. “Hey Foggy,” Matt looked up with a goofy smile.

“Hey roomie, what’ve you got there?”

“Thurgood Marshall,” Matt’s fingers thumped on the book.

Foggy snorted. “Alright you nerd, it’s high time you took a break, because...” Foggy dragged out that last word as he raised his arm and rustled the bag which contained the leftovers. “I come bearing gifts! Of the edible kind!”

Matt’s response was something Foggy could only describe as ‘delightfully excitable puppy’. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if a wagging tail appeared.

Apparently one whole day of watching his friend enthusiastically plow through three consecutive meals of leftovers— whatever, he couldn’t help keeping score— was the longest Foggy could go without saying anything, because leaving things alone was not his strong suit. He couldn’t push past the gnawing in the pit of his stomach anymore.

“So uh, how did you spend the holiday? I, um. Never had the opportunity to ask earlier.” He swallowed hard.

Matt simply nodded in response and threw in a nonchalant “it was OK”.

“Yeah?”

Matt added a string of incoherent mumbling after he pushed whatever was in his mouth down his throat, and then proceeded to shove more food into his mouth, because that appeared to be a tried and true tactic in diverting from uncomfortable topics in the Murdock playbook. Oookay then. Foggy got up and poured him a glass of water, which Matt gratefully gulped down in one go.

The following weekend saw Foggy too awake for a nap but too blah to spend it outside.

Matt, being Matt, was lying on his own bed across from him, glasses off and nose deep in something on his laptop. Well this was new. Bedtime aside, this was the first time Matt wasn’t wearing his glasses. Foggy wasn’t quite sure why that realization made him smile a little. Matt looked up, head tilted slightly to one side when Foggy released his exasperated boredom in a sigh.

“I’m bored.”

“How about—”

“Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say,” Foggy interrupted in a flat voice.

“But reading is fun, Foggy,” he said, all wide eyed and earnest.

Foggy groaned. “Wait, don’t tell me. Marshall, again?” He asked dryly.

Matt shook his head. “Kapu Kuʻialua, an ancient Hawaiian martial art. Some of its exercises are similar to Qigong, actually.”

“Huh,” Foggy said, surprised. “You know martial arts?”

“Merely regurgitating what I read,” Matt cleared his throat uncomfortably and fiddled with the collar on his shirt.

Hawaii...Foggy daydreamed of bright beaches and hula dancing before being an idea came to him. He sat up straight. “Hey Matt, wanna watch ‘Lilo and Stitch’ with me? It’s an animated film about aliens and Hawaii. I’m painting very broad strokes here.” Matt did that thing with his head again. Yup, definitely a puppy. A lanky one, but still.

“Sure,” he chucked his book aside and plopped down onto Foggy’s bed, all happy. As the movie began, Foggy did his best to make his narration as colorful as possible, because he really wanted Matt to have as similar an experience as he did when he first watched it.

Matt’s giggles at Foggy’s narration made him feel good, like he was doing something important, something special.

“You’re really good at this, Foggy,” Matt said. Foggy smiled, and basked in that compliment.

As the story progressed, Foggy noticed how stick-straight Matt sat, visibly tense and listening intently. When Lilo talked about her family, Matt was picking at his sweatpants and biting his lip, an upset tic of his that Foggy had come to recognize. “Hey, uh—would you like to take a break?” Foggy asked, because Matt looked genuinely overwhelmed.

“No, no. Keep going,” Matt insisted, so Foggy obliged. Foggy could’ve sworn he heard a small gasp by the time Stitch said “Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind.... or forgotten.” It was a good ending, a happy ending, but Matt was quiet. Without his glasses, his crumpled expression made him look vulnerable with a side of sad.

“Hey buddy,” Foggy said softly, reaching out to touch his knee before changing his mind at the last second. “You OK?”

Matt nodded, and curled a little bit in on himself as he brought his knees up to his chest. Seeing his friend like that made Foggy’s chest feel all twisty inside. “I’ll be right back,” Foggy said a while later as he got off his bed and plodded to their tiny “kitchen” where their electric kettle was. He returned with two mugs of hot chocolate.

“Here,” he said as he pressed one into Matt’s hand.

“Thanks,” Matt mumbled, his eyes doing that sad stare into his mug. Foggy opened and shut his mouth several times, not knowing what to say. He pushed past the urge to squirm and took a sip from his mug instead.

Matt was the first one to break the silence. “I still miss my dad. A lot.”

Miss? Oh no. An old rumor came back to him, something about Battlin’ Jack found dead in an alley. Foggy didn’t know which made him feel worse: that he’d forgotten about the news surrounding Matt’s dad, or that he’d asked Matt to watch a movie that basically had loss and abandonment as a running theme. _What was I-? that’s right, Nelson. You weren’t thinking._ Guilt and anger crashed around inside him. Saying “I’m sorry” felt too cheap and insignificant, so Foggy stayed silent.

“The news didn’t report much about dad’s death and whatever information the media had was vague at best, since there was a high profile murder that night,” Matt continued. “And this was Hell’s Kitchen, after all. Things like that happened pretty often.”

“What— what happened after that?” the question was barely a whisper.

“I ended up in St Agnes,” Matt said with a tiny shrug, like it was the most normal thing in the world but it was so totally not, not to Foggy, who was this close to crying because Matt still had that beyond sad (Foggy was too distraught to think of a proper word) look on his face. Foggy knew better than to ask about his mum, because sad, orphaned blind Matt Murdock whose dad was murdered was already too much for his heart to take.

He settled for nodding instead, and was about to nod some more when he felt his own breath hitch— _dammit Nelson, who gave you permission to cry all over your friend’s moment?!_ — which was how Foggy found himself with no choice but to lunge forward and wrap his friend in a hug.

“I’m sorry, Matt,” his said, words muffled by his hug, and tried not to sniffle too loudly. Matt, completely taken in surprise by Foggy’s sudden action, went completely stiff for a few seconds before slowly raising a hand to pat Foggy’s back awkwardly.

“Are you...crying?” he asked.

“N-no,” Foggy answered a little too fast. He proceeded to wipe his eyes briskly with the back of his hand once he let go of Matt.

“The movie just brought up some stuff but that’s OK, because...because that means he’s always with me, in my memories, and I never want to forget that,” a sad little smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

Matt finally took a sip of his hot chocolate and made a sound like he wanted nothing more than to drink it forever. “You make good hot chocolate, Foggy,” he licked his lips. “Sorry I spilled some of it on your bed.”

Foggy waved a hand. “It’s OK, buddy. Sorry for that hug attack.” They sat in silence, Foggy tapping out a random rhythm on the rim of his now empty mug. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Matt nodded.

“I know I sorta asked this already, but um. How did you spend thanksgiving?” Foggy asked, eyes wide and brows creased with concern.

Matt dipped his head and chewed on his bottom lip as his fingers picked at the hem of his shirt. I... spent it here,” it sounded more like a question, like he was afraid his answer would be unsatisfactory.

“You were alone?” Matt didn’t answer immediately. “I had good company, though,” he said softly, with a hopeful-apologetic shrug.

“Good company?” “Yeah, I had a great time catching up on my reading. I got so lost in several good books that time practically flew by.” Foggy wanted to cry. His poor heart couldn’t take any more of the sad-fest that was one Matthew Murdock. He pictured his roommate all by his lonesome, eating something sad and pre-packed on his bed while he listened to an audio book. 

Foggy must have let out an involuntary whimper or something, because he immediately went into full-on guilty mode: sad, pleading eyes at full capacity, biting his lip, the works. “Please don’t get upset, Foggy. I’m sorry.”

Foggy almost fell off his bed at Matt’s response, because this whole scene was insanely and heart achingly ridiculous. Apparently his roommate had a guilt complex that spanned continents.

“Foggy?”

“I— I’m OK,” Foggy shook his head but it was too late, Matt’s sad expression was already seared into his memory.

“Why didn’t you just come with me then, when I asked you? You wouldn’t have been imposing. Really.”

“I— I was afraid.” Matt was still picking at his shirt.

“Afraid of what?”

“Ruining your family’s thanksgiving, making people uncomfortable. It happens. Pretty often.”

“Matt,” Foggy sighed his name exasperatedly and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not going to happen. They’re already smitten by the idea of you— thanks in part to my emails— and they’re all very, _very_ eager at the prospect of meeting you someday. That’s code for Christmas, if you were wondering.” Matt looked conflicted, like he wanted to smile but was afraid of doing so.

“Really?” he asked, the little wistful note in his voice not lost on Foggy.

“Really,” Foggy nodded. “I’m not leaving for the holidays without you this time, Murdock. I’ll kidnap you back home if that’s what it comes to. Resistance is futile.” Foggy crossed his arms. “I’m in a very stern, ‘I mean business’ stance by the way.”

“OK,” Matt said. He didn’t hold back on smiling this time.

It felt nice, seeing Matt smile the way he did, and it felt even nicer knowing that he was partly responsible for it. “Yes!” Foggy cheered and pumped a fist in the air. “I’m going to email mom and dad and let them know you’re coming. Everyone is going to be thrilled. _Thrilled_!”

Matt laughed. “Just- just don’t put anything about wounded handsome ducks in there.”

“OK but fair warning, they already know that about you.” Wait. Was that a blush Foggy spotted? “Anyway,” Foggy carried on, “it’s just a matter of time before I come up with other flattering things to say about you. You know me, I’m not stingy with my compliments.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that on the first day we met. It’s not every day you get called good-looking right to your face by someone you’ve just met.” Matt’s chuckle came out in a little huff.

“Excuse me,” Foggy said in mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest, “but Franklin Nelson isn’t just ‘someone’. He is rarer than the rarest Captain America trading card and more dazzling than any taco platter on taco Tuesdays.”

“Forgive me, my liege,” Matt laughed as he pretended to bow. “You are indeed magnificent.”

“And don’t you forget it!” Foggy grinned as he cracked his knuckles and began typing his email.


	3. Maverick and Goose before really cute co-eds, and all that jazz

It finally happened. Apparently being in close proximity with his charming-when-he-wanted-to-be friend for a prolonged period must have rubbed off on Foggy, because Layla finally asked him out. This was the same Layla who was the main reason behind Foggy’s weekly motivation for Punjabi class. And OK, it wasn’t so much about being asked out as it was getting invited to a party she was throwing, but that was close enough. Foggy Nelson, the eternal optimist, finally got his due, and boy was it glorious.

He figured his good mood must’ve been radiating off him or something, because it took Matt all of three seconds after Foggy had stepped into their room to ask “good day?” with a knowing smirk.

“OK, that right there? Creepy. Also a little cool. But mostly creepy.”

“You were humming ‘Don’t Stop Believin’,” Matt laughed, hands half raised in mock surrender. He looked so cute Foggy had to roll his eyes because he only saw two options: either lie to himself and pretend to be over Matt’s charm or raise a fist to the cosmos and yell some obscenities.

“How in the world did you hear that? I’m fairly sure I stopped humming before I opened the door.”

“Um...I have excellent hearing. And what’s the good news?” Matt asked, curiosity slipping into his smile. It might’ve also been an attempt to change the subject but Foggy was too excited to harp on that.

“Layla,” even saying her name made him smile. “She invited me— well, us, to her party tomorrow night. We did it, buddy! Our first real party at law school! There’s gonna be booze, and girls, and girls...” Foggy gave a contented sigh as he flopped onto his bed.

“You just said girls twice, Foggy,” Matt smirked again and quirked an eyebrow up for good measure.

“My point exactly,” Foggy grinned.

Matt wasn’t one for parties or socializing (“Did you like going to parties during college?”

“Ah- not really? I think they just felt awkward inviting the blind guy to parties, y’know? Besides, I much preferred studying, so.”

“Oh,” cue awkward/guilty shuffling of feet.

“But I did get to kiss a girl at a party once,” a smug grin.

  
“Lucky duck,” the comment had to be paired with a congratulatory nudge), so his excitement— and by that Foggy meant Matt not immediately declining to go— was a nice surprise.

Foggy tried not to let too much of his pre-party jitters show, but that ship probably sailed when he spent a good twenty minutes deciding on what to wear before describing his outfit to his incredibly patient roommate for feedback.

“Your outfit sounds fine, Foggy,” Matt said for what was probably the fifth time, the amusement in his voice growing.

They made their way to Layla’s, Foggy making sure they were a fashionably half hour late. If the loud, pulsing music was any indication, the party was already in full swing. Matt fiddled with the strap on his cane as he cleared his throat. He looked paler than usual, the loud music clearly the cause of his unease.

Foggy knew Matt wouldn’t say anything about his discomfort and would rather swallow a horse than admit how he really felt, so Foggy made the first move. Maverick and Goose before really cute co-eds, and all that jazz.

“Ugh the music’s way too loud, we should leave,” Foggy made a dismissive motion with his hand that was more for his benefit than Matt’s, hoping that somehow it could better convey the lightness in his voice. He really didn’t want Matt to go off on another guilt trip about ruining his night (since it really wouldn’t— it wasn’t like this was his only chance to get to know Layla. And if it did, so what? He wasn’t going to risk Matt’s well being just so he could get to know a girl— which, let’s be real: in a loud party like this one, was going to be pretty unlikely).

“I—It’s OK, Foggy,” Matt gripped Foggy’s elbow a little tighter than usual when Foggy tried to turn and walk away.

“Hey man, we don’t have to go to this party if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“I feel fine,” Matt forced out an unconvincing smile that looked more like a cringe.

“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but fine is the last thing you look like right now. And even if that’s true, _I_ don’t feel fine. I think I feel a headache coming on.”

“But I know you were really looking forward to this; you were fussing over your outfit.”

“Pfft,” Foggy waved dismissively again. “That’s because I’m an awkward and unfashionable dork. Besides, it’s not like skipping a party’s the end of the world. C’mon, it’s really no big deal.”

Matt shuffled his feet. At least the guilt on his face wasn’t cranked to ‘high’. “What about Layla?”

“What about her?”

“I don’t want to blow your chance with her,” Matt said, and Foggy wanted to soothe the guilty little frown that was etched between his brows. “You could still go to the party without me.”

“And leave you wandering around alone at night? No way. I’m vetoing that suggestion.”

“It’s no big deal, not like this is the first time. And I can take care of myself,” Matt protested.

“Matt.” Foggy didn’t mean to, but it came out sounding like an exasperated whine. Matt gave a defeated sigh. “Fine.”

“Don’t worry about Layla, I’ll still see her in class and around campus. I’m doing an ‘it’s no big deal’ shrug, by the way.” Foggy continued, “besides, with you as my disarmingly charming wing-man— I basing this on the assumption that our wing-man arrangement is mutual— the world, or this campus, at least, is our oyster.” Matt gave his signature unintelligible mumble and Foggy decided to take that as a small victory for that moment. He put his arm around Matt’s shoulder and steered the both of them away from the door.

“I’ll make it up to you , I promise,” Matt said, all somber and determined.

“How?” Foggy asked with a teasing edge to his voice, because curiosity trumped polite refusal.

“I’ll... I’ll go up to Layla and her friends and tell them about your very soft and nice smelling hair which smells like strawberries, and say that you’re very good in bed.” A pause, and then, “also that you’ve got a very soothing voice.” Foggy knew he should have bit back on his less than dignified laugh-squawk, but he was too slow. Matt frowned, confused.  
“Did I say something wrong?”

“Ah, no, not at all. Those were very nice things to know about myself. A little too nice, actually?” Foggy turned to give Matt a meaningful look before realizing that the effect would’ve been lost on him.

Matt still looked confused. “It’s the truth, Foggy. Well, I don’t know about the good at sex part— I’m guessing it’s true, but that’s something you normally say as a wing-man, right?”

“Matt,” Foggy huffed out a laugh, not quite succeeding in keeping the incredulous tone out of his voice. “Have you not wing-manned before?”

“I’ve listened to what they say and it always boils down to ‘My friend is awesome and he’s good at sex’, so I figured I’d just cut to the chase, get right to the point.”

“Oh buddy,” Foggy said fondly, patting his arm. “You have a heart of gold, but I’m sorta glad you haven’t wing-manned for me yet. At least, not until I teach you a thing or two. Tell you what, how about you make it up to me by helping me study for next week’s test?”

“That’s it?” Matt asked, unsure.

“Have you ever known me to be anything but magnanimous?” Matt still looked unconvinced. "C'mon buddy, it's fine. Don't worry about it." Foggy gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“Y’know…” the growl in Foggy’s stomach gave him an idea. “This doesn't have to spell the end of our night. Whaddya say, you up for a pizza party?”

And there it was, a flicker of a smile. "How'd you know I was hungry?" Matt asked.

"I wanna say I didn't, but that doesn't sound as cool as a 'Matt Murdock hunger radar' so let's go with the latter."

Matt's smile was bigger now. "OK, but I want pineapples on my half."

"Ugh, you animal! How are we even best friends?"

"They elevate the other flavors! And they add texture!"

"Yeesh. A chill just went down my spine."

"Hey, if you're getting your stinky anchovies on your half it's only fair I get my pineapples." Matt was laughing now. Good. 

"Fine. Fair warning about the fishy burps, though."

" _Foggy!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Ho ho ho!


	4. Home for the holidays

Matt zipped his bag up and gave it a pat. “There, all done. You can stop staring now, Foggy.”

"Hey, it’s not my fault that I find you packing up to spend the holidays with my family so riveting. But whatevs. Finally! All aboard the Christmas with the Nelsons train!" Foggy cheered. "Brace yourself for an avalanche of food, and merry making, and food, and— yup, I’m def missing Nana’s cooking too much."

"I figured as much," Matt grinned.

There was music and laughter and oh- the most delicious Christmas ham Matt had ever smelled when they reached the porch. Foggy hummed along to the tune from the door chime while Matt fidgeted with his strap.

"What's wrong, buddy?" Foggy asked.

"Everyone sounds like they're having such a good time. I—I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable," Matt confessed.

"Pfft," Foggy waved a hand. "Hush your silly talk, Murdock. Everyone is gonna love you! Also, I don’t think the word 'uncomfortable' exists in the Nelson vocabulary. And don't worry, I won't leave you alone with chatty Aunt Cathy." Matt smiled.

“Well if it isn't my little butcher-lawyer,” Anna Nelson smiled, arms outstretched.

“Hey mum,” Foggy hugged her. “And look who's here too,” he said, putting an arm around Matt’s shoulder.

Matt shuffled forward and gave a small wave. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs Nelson.”

“Please, none of that Mrs Nelson nonsense. Call me Anna!” She pulled him into a hug as well. Matt stiffened, not expecting that to happen, but then he smiled and leaned into the hug. Foggy was right, his mum did give the best hugs in the world.

After Edward, Foggy’s dad, pressed a mug of eggnog into his hand, the next fifteen minutes were a whirlwind of introductions and various tempting aromas from the kitchen that filled the whole house. There was Nana Nelson and aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, but Matt's favorite introduction by Foggy was cousin Liam's. " When cousin Liam was a kid he wanted to be Liam Neeson so much that he’d misspell his last name on purpose," Foggy continued. "Scribbled it all over his homework. It wasn't his fault that his name was one alphabet away from a movie star's." Matt laughed. It was very difficult for Matt to remember which name belonged to which voice and heartbeat, but that worry quickly dissipated because everyone reintroduced themselves whenever they spoke to him.

Matt's face ached from smiling so much because he couldn't remember the last time he held that expression for so long. Everyone was warm, welcoming and extremely curious about him. It seemed the entire Nelson household knew about his story, because he found himself recounting how he adjusted to life after the accident and politely disagreeing about his hero status at least five times, after which he received either a hug or a pat on the cheek. The tension in his shoulders eased after the third hug. The eggnog might’ve had a hand in it too, probably.

He tried to ask Anna if there was anything he could help with, but all he got was a "Nonsense! You're our guest!" before she shooed him to Foggy's bedroom where Candace was.

An impressed whistle. "Damn. I hate to admit it but you were right, Foggy," Candace said once the door closed. "Forlorn burrito indeed," she murmured.

Matt couldn't help the heat that flooded his cheeks. Why hadn’t any of the nuns back at St Agnes told him about this extra circle of hell which was clearly labelled “EMBARRASSMENT” in gaudy, neon letters?

"What exactly did you write in those emails of yours, Foggy?" he muttered.

"Oh, only the highest of compliments, I can assure you," Candace drawled. "It was ‘wounded handsome duck’ the first week, and ‘devastatingly charming smile’ the next." Wow. That was, that was something. Matt turned, made sure his face was fully facing Foggy’s, then proceeded to frown really hard.

Foggy shrugged. "Sorry, buddy. I told you, not one to hold back on compliments. I'll let you have my extra share of dessert instead?" he offered, all conciliatorily.

“Forlorn burrito? _Really_?“ Matt hissed, because, really.

"Hey Matt, how about for payback, I break out the family album and describe some of Foggy's most embarrassing photos?" Candace asked, the hint of glee in her voice almost infectious.

"Great idea," he grinned and sat down on the bed.

"Don't you dare, Candace!" Foggy warned.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "What're you gonna do, stop me?" She challenged. Foggy was about to come back with a retort when Anna yelled for him to help with the table. Candace snickered as he left the room with a scowl.

Matt had never had so much food in his life. Sure, he knew the Nelsons weren't super well off or anything, but the food. Oh, the food. It was sumptuous and his plate was almost overflowing throughout the entire dinner since various Nelsons kept piling things on his plate and he had to restrain himself from going 'Mmm' several times because it was just that good.

Something must have shown on his face because Foggy leaned over, chortled, and asked "That good, huh?"

"—itty shure th’ mashed potats’re made o’clouds, -oggy," was all he could manage before shoving another spoonful into his mouth.

"Yeah? Well, just make sure you don't choke, buddy. I'd hate to do the Heimlich on you. It happened to Uncle Russel three Christmasses ago."

He'd never had seconds before and now he was getting thirds and fourths, because Aunt Cathy and everyone else kept commenting about how small he was. Granted, in a house full of Nelsons, Matt certainly looked the part.

It wasn't until dessert (Nana's special apple pie with a generous scoop of home-made vanilla ice cream) that Matt realized something was missing. That usual cold ache that sat in his chest every Christmas wasn't there, not even a little. At first he thought it might've been dulled by all that food and Nelson cheer, but that wasn't it. The ache was completely gone. Matt let out a shaky sigh of relief under his breath.

He took the new weightlessness in his chest as a sign and dived right in, abandoning his prior plan of eating around the ice cream and prodding it until it melted. Matt wasn't sure what he expected, probably unpleasant flashbacks regarding Stick or a melancholy of some kind, but what he felt when he put that first mouthful of ice cream in his mouth was...unexpected.

He swallowed, smiled, and went in for another bite. As the family roared in laughter at some joke Uncle Ted said, Matt found the perfect name for what that feeling was.

Home.

Matt was still in a food coma haze by the time he and Foggy went to bed, already half asleep when Anna popped in to say good night. Foggy mumbled something that sounded like a “g’night” and Anna chuckled as she leaned in to plant a kiss on his forehead. Spending the day with Foggy’s folks had been the closest thing to family he’d felt in ages and it was nice, but a small voice at the back of his head told him that no matter how warm and welcome he felt, he was never going to be a Nelson. Not really, anyway.

So after Anna kissed Foggy, Matt freaked out and pretended to be asleep. This way, he reasoned, she wouldn’t be obliged into doing the same to him because as much as Matt wished for a mother who would kiss him good night, he didn’t want anything offered out of pity or obligation. He tensed when Anna started to move towards his bed, but then remembered he was supposed to be asleep, not going into rigor mortis.

“Good night, Matt,” she said, and that was it- that was where Matt expected it to end. But then she reached down and brushed a lock of his hair aside, leaned over and pressed a kiss into his forehead too. A warm glow traveled down his cheeks to the tips of his toes. Matt waited until she exited the room before he tightened his hug around his bolster and allowed himself to smile into his pillow. _You were wrong_ , was his final thought before he drifted off into the best sleep he had in years.

As cliched as a Christmas miracle sounded, the day certainly felt like one for Matt when he woke up to a snowy morning and didn't feel the least bit grumpy about it. He usually hated snow because of the way it messed with his senses (it was like everything got covered by a blanket), but this was his first Christmas where he was actually enjoying himself, so he found himself smiling a smidge wider than he usually did at everything. Which happened to include things that usually annoyed the hell out of him.

The Nelsons had the tradition of opening their presents during breakfast and Matt thought that he could quietly soak up all that Nelson yuletide cheer behind his giant bowl of cereal, but he was wrong, again. This was clearly shaping out to be the “Matt is wrong about things” Christmas of 2010.

“Hey Matt,” Edward said his name in that eager and expectant way that almost made it sound like a question. “Here’s something Anna and I got just for you. We hope you’ll like it.” The realization that this was his first present since his dad had passed wasn’t lost on him. Actually, this was his first present from someone who wasn’t related to him, period, since the only Christmas gifts he received were all from his dad.

“T-thank you, Mr and Mrs Nelson,” Matt said, fully aware that he sounded like a robot. He supposed he should’ve been glad he even managed to get any words out, considering how stunned and overwhelmed he was in that moment. It wasn’t until Edward cleared his throat awkwardly that Matt realized he was still holding onto his spoon.  
“Oh, sorry. Thank you,” he mumbled, dropping the spoon and taking the rectangular package from Edward.

“Open it,” Foggy said, through a mouthful of banana toast. Matt didn’t need sight to tell him Foggy was grinning wide. The surprise had thrown Matt for a loop, and he hoped no one noticed his hands trembling as he unwrapped his gift.

He untied the ribbon slowly, careful not to shred the wrapping paper, cataloging the moment and everything that had to do with it: the Christmas music playing in the background, the smell of breakfast in their kitchen, the crinkle of paper, the excited heartbeats waiting in anticipation as Matt opened his present, all of it. Matt steadied his hands as best as he could before feeling for his gift.

A soft gasp escaped him when he realized what it was. “Is this—?”

“We weren’t quite sure what to get you until Foggy told us you seemed a little uncomfortable on your bed sheets, and that they were washed threadbare,” Anna explained.

“I’ve never had silk sheets before. They feel so soft,” Matt said in a daze, his brain-to-mouth filter momentarily dislodged, his hand still touching his present.

“Seeing as how you’re still fondling your gift, I’ll take that to mean you like it very much?” Foggy smirked.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Matt said, the smile on his face wide and easy. “I love it.”

By the time he and Foggy were done with lunch, Foggy’s little nieces and nephews were already out and about, taking advantage of the fresh white fluff before it turned into frozen grey sludge. Judging from the screams and laughter, several snowball fights were in full swing. They stepped out onto the porch, Matt taking a moment to breathe the air in.

“Come on, Matty! It'll be fun!” Foggy called out, his voice bright with glee. _Matty_. Foggy called him Matty. Matt went still, almost rigid; he even forgot to blink. _Matty_. And it wasn’t just the name, it was the way Foggy said it, too. It sounded so happy, so _right_. After his dad and Stick, Matt never expected to hear anyone else call him that again, much less in a way that sounded like how he’d always wanted it to sound, like it belonged.

“Matt? You alright, buddy?”

Matt willed his body to move, to nod, to say something, but all he managed was a choked noise that didn’t quite make it past his throat. It wasn’t until Foggy touched his arm lightly that Matt nodded, ashamed that he wasn’t in total control of his emotions. _‘Weak’_ was the word that swam in his mind as his face grow hot in embarrassment.

Matt shifted uncomfortably before nodding again. “...you called me Matty.”

Now it was Foggy’s turn to go still, his breath coming out in a faint whisper that sounded like an “oh” to Matt.

“I’m sorry. I—wasn’t thinking, it just kind of slipped out.” Foggy sounded so guilty Matt wanted to kick himself.

“It’s ok,” Matt rushed out. “It's just been a long time since anyone's used that name. B-but you can call me that, if you’d like,” Matt looked down when he said that last part, and didn’t quite care about whatever silly expression was on his face.

“Really?” Foggy asked, a little hesitant.

“Yeah,” Matt nodded and looked up so that Foggy could see that he was smiling.

“OK then,” Foggy sounded like he was beaming. “So...shall we?”

“We shall,” Matt agreed. One lopsided, pudgy snowman later (which Matt named Fogmaster much to everyone else's glee but Foggy’s faux-chagrin), the kids pulled them into helping to build a snow fort, which ended in another snowball fight, because of course. Matt’s teeth were chattering by the time they went back into the house. Candace laid out mugs of hot chocolate for everyone as they warmed themselves up in the kitchen.

Oh— whoa. This was even better than the one Foggy made back at school. It was so creamy and rich and— Candace tittered while Foggy sighed. Uh oh.

“You lead with your face too much, Murdock,” Foggy groused.

“This memory is officially filed under the ‘Things Candace beats Foggy at’ category, if you were wondering,” she playfully jabbed at her brother.

“I refuse to acknowledge that! Matt only liked your hot chocolate better ‘cause you got to use the nice whipped cream and marshmallows instead of the off-brand types I have on campus.”

“Uh...I’m feeling compelled to offer some sort of apology?” Matt offered.

“Yeah, yeah. Finish your drink, you traitor. Just so you know, I’m demanding a do-over once we get back.” Foggy huffed. Matt suppressed a chuckle.

“OK,” Matt agreed. Because the way he saw it, only one winner was going to emerge out of all this with a mug of hot chocolate in tow, and his name was going to be Matt Murdock.

Matt got his second surprise during a rare quiet moment in Foggy’s room later that day. Foggy was digging around for something and Matt thought nothing of it, until— “Merry Christmas, buddy,” Foggy deposited something light and soft on Matt’s lap.

“I already have a present,” Matt said, slightly buzzed from the pleasant onslaught of gifts (because two gifts were two gifts too much), but his hand was already brushing the fur of his stuffed dinosaur, secretly enjoying how the soft fur felt against his fingers.

“I know, and now you’ve got another,” Foggy sat down next to Matt.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Foggy’s reply to Matt's bafflement— complete with a slightly gaping mouth— came in the form of a chortle.

“What?”

“You definitely look like your gift,” Foggy said proudly.

“Hmm?”

“Your gift,” Foggy explained. “It’s a light green Diplodocus that’s got a smile like yours, that rare goofy one that slips out when you’re relaxed or having having fun. Which is _very_ rare.”

“I’m mostly relaxed...sorta,” Matt said weakly, because he knew Foggy knew it was a lie. Foggy snorted.

“Anyway. It’s a nice smile, and it reminded me of you, so,” Foggy shrugged.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Uh, yeah,” Foggy said, dragging the word out. He might’ve rolled his eyes too. “What kind of question is that?”

“OK,” Matt said, ignoring the heat in his cheeks because he knew the exact smile that Foggy was referring to. It was the one that only happened when his best friend was around.

“So,” Foggy said, breaking Matt out of his reverie. “What're you gonna name your dinosaur?”

Matt shrugged. He didn’t have many toys growing up, and the last one which had a name was an old stuffed bear that he had when he was five, which he very unoriginally named Teddy.

“How about Junior?” Foggy suggested.

“Junior?” Matt repeated, fingers tracing circles on the dinosaur’s back where its spots were.

“Yeah? Since I figured that’s what you’d look like if you were a prehistoric creature?”

“I see you’re just as bad at names as I am,” Matt teased.

“You see shit, buddy,” Foggy joked, laughing quietly.

“Thank you, Foggy. For everything, Matt said, earnestly. Foggy made an appreciative noise, then nudged his shoulder gently. “Anytime, pal.” Matt didn’t need any facial narration to know that Foggy was smiling.

It wasn’t until they were back at campus that Matt decided to pull a Foggy on Foggy. “Merry belated Christmas,” he shuffled over to Foggy’s desk and handed him a bag, feeling like a kid as he bit his lip to keep from smiling too wide, because he hadn’t missed the way Foggy’s heart skipped.

“Wh- Matt, you—” Foggy spluttered, then swallowed thickly as he looked at his present. Foggy Nelson rendered speechless was an accomplishment Matt was not going to forget.

“You like ‘em?” Now Matt understood why Foggy liked leaving little gifts of snacks and jokes in Braille on Matt’s desk. He savored the warmth in his chest as he rocked on his heels.

“Like you needed to ask,” Foggy said, trying and failing to mask the emotion in his voice. “I love them. Thanks, Matty.” He was already placing the colorful little dinosaur figurines, each no taller than his finger, on his desk.

“I got these for you while I was at the store with your dad and Candice the other day. I told her I wanted to get you something and she dragged me to the toy aisle. Said you’d like anything I grabbed from there since you were such a giant kid,” Matt said, secretly thrilled at the little jig his heart did when Foggy called him Matty again.

Foggy shook his head. “Yep, that sounds like dear ol’ Candace,” he said affectionately. He made a satisfied sound after arranging his new friends on his desk.

“Hmm?”

“It’s been decided. I’m going to take these little critters with me on our internship.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Gonna make sure they have a front row seat on my journey into becoming a fine, upstanding member of the legal profession." Foggy turned to face Matt. “Hey, wanna take those dinos down from your shelf for a play date with my new buddies?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Matt didn’t bother biting back on his unabashedly wide smile this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although certain events differ slightly, this chapter was mostly a continuation of [Six Christmasses](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5203331)
> 
> Next: Someone's a clingy, cheeky octopus.


	5. Getting evaluated via gentle caress

Their latest assignment had to have something to do with how antsy Matt had gotten, Foggy reckoned. His friend was constantly mumbling and grouchy, picking at his clothes and biting his fist when he thought Foggy wasn’t paying attention.

And so, not being one to turn down a good procrastination when the opportunity presented itself, he badgered Matt into going out for drinks, AKA time to get shitfaced.

“I can’t, Foggy, I have to study,” Matt protested but ultimately lost, because Foggy could be very convincing when he wanted to be, a sign he hoped would translate into him being a good lawyer.

Matt downed his first glass of beer with a petulant sulk, but by the end of his second, Foggy proudly pointed out his sloppy smile, which just made his already flushed face even redder. After his third, Matt was clingy like an odd little glasses-wearing octopus, fully groggy and perfectly content petting Foggy's hair when he wasn't resting his head on the counter. Foggy was half amused and half worried, because he didn’t quite know what to do with a babbling, giggly, clingy little study bug who weighed considerably more than he looked.

“Lessh’o to the park!” Matt tugged on Foggy’s arm.

“Nuh uh. No can do, you loopsy lush,” Foggy giggled. “I think I might be one too, just slightly less than you. We better head back. Come on, buddy.” He propped a very floppy Matt on his shoulders as they trudged back.

“Oof. Matt, what’re your bones made of, lead?”

Matt giggled. “Sh’no one’ll kidnap me!”

“Good, because I hear there’s a huge black market out there for drunk law students.”

“...y’funnnny,” Matt cooed.

“OK, OK. Enough with the bad pickup lines, buddy. We’re almost home.”

“Bed!” Matt cheered with startling clarity. Foggy silently agreed, because he hated how his arms were starting to ache. He was definitely going to need some major gym time if this was going to happen again. Which, to be honest, it absolutely was. Whoever said law school could be conquered without alcohol obviously never graduated.

Foggy breathed a sigh of relief when they reached their room.

“Uh uh, Matt. Not yet, pal.” Matt had started to curl in on himself once Foggy dropped him in his bed. He nudged Matt a little so he could remove his glasses, tug his well-worn shoes off and help him shrug out of his jacket. Then he got up, handed Matt a bottle of water, “drink up, Matty” and set a pail down beside Matt’s bed. “Just in case,” he said, to which Matt hummed.

“There, all done,” Foggy sighed after he pulled a blanket over Matt. “Night night, you extremely cuddly weirdo,” he mumbled and patted Matt’s shoulder as he started to climb off Matt’s bed.

“Nghhhh,” Matt practically _whined_ , hand shooting out from beneath his covers and latching onto Foggy’s wrist (Foggy might have jumped a little from Matt’s death grip). “ _Stay_.” Oh, um. OK, then.

Foggy obliged, because he was in no position to deny his drunk roommate with the super strong grip anything. But then the quiet happy noise that emerged from Matt when he started to nuzzle Foggy's hand made his chest go all fuzzy, because it felt good to know that he was the cause of that noise.

It probably also didn’t help that he had _that_ face on, the one that looked so content and peaceful and was just so unlike Matt it kind of startled Foggy for a bit because broody contemplative Matt had become a baseline of sorts (even when he slept he still looked like there was some mild struggle going on), but for all the reasons that it was so unlike Matt, this was a good look on him. So Foggy just sat there, lost in his thoughts, his hand a makeshift teddy bear for Matt.

Matt wiggled for a bit, then turned so that he was lying flat on his back. His eyelids fluttered open, gaze landing on a spot just behind Foggy’s ear. “I thought someone was sleepy,” Foggy said in a mock-accusatory tone.

“M’drunk, not s—” Matt yawned. “Not sleepy.” He shot Foggy a shameless grin. Foggy snorted.

If he had to guess what the almost imperceptible shift in Matt’s expression was he’d say it looked like Matt was debating whether his request was more of a need or a want.

“You need something?”

Matt didn’t respond immediately, squirming a little before he propped himself up on his elbows. “Ca...can I touch y’face, Foggy?” His speech was a little slow, but his words were clear. And hopeful. His head was tilted so far to one side it was almost resting on his shoulder.

“Huh? Why?”

“...dunno how y’look like?” he gave a tiny shrug.

Foggy shook his head, forgetting for a split-second that his roommate couldn’t see the action. “Ehhh. I just shook my head.”

“Why?” He had the audacity to pout, the jerk. Apparently drunk Matt Murdock wasn't afraid or hesitant about going after what he wanted.

“Um, because, weird?”

“Foggy, please?” He dragged out the last word. “Just once?” Matt wheedled a little more, then pulled out that smile, the one that Foggy knew Matt knew he couldn’t say no to (it was a confession Foggy made in a weak moment of drunken stupor; he wasn’t expecting Matt to remember, much less bring it up while he was piss-drunk), the smug little shit. Damn it. He hated how he folded so easily when it came to Matt.

“Ugh. I resent your winsome smiles, Murdock,” he grumbled.

“I win.” he said cheerfully.

“Yes, that you did,” Foggy acquiesced.

Matt shifted so that he was facing Foggy directly. Should he just breathe normally or take shallower breaths, because wouldn’t it be weird to breathe onto Matt’s fingers?

“You’re nervous,” Matt wasn’t asking.

“Duh. My face is getting evaluated via gentle caress. That’s not something I thought I’d have to say out loud. Or ever, period.”

Matt gave a toothy grin as he reached out. OK, so this was really happening. Foggy closed his eyes and tried not to squirm when Matt's slightly cool fingers brushed against his hairline.

“Nice eyebrows.”

“Thank you,”

“You have nice ears.”

“That’s good to hear.” Matt giggled again.

“Ooh, you’ve got a nice smile.”

“But I’m not even smiling right now.”

“I can just tell.”

As his fingers brushed over the edge of Foggy’s chin he tried to bite his lip to keep from smiling but failed miserably.

“Yes, Matthew, that is a pimple.”

Matt giggled some more. Foggy knew it was nothing to be embarrassed about, but he couldn't stop the heat that flushed his cheeks. Matt paused and cleared his throat.

“You have a nice face,” he said blithely and genuinely, but then proceeded to burp directly in his face. More slightly hysterical giggles ensued, and then, “...good friend…’oggy...” he said between yawns.

“Oh, _now_ you decide you’re sleepy.” Foggy pulled Matt's blanket up to his shoulder.

Matt gave a sloppy smile. “Night night, bestie.”

“You say the cutest things when you’re drunk, you know that?”

“Mm hmm,” Matt hummed into his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Puppy's got bite


	6. Some serious bite

Matt was making his way back to campus from the gym when he heard taunting laughter and someone being shoved. Hard. The all too familiar sounds of an altercation. Someone else was there too, a girl, who sounded like she was holding back her sobs.

“What’re you gonna do now?” a voice jeered.

“Hey man, I don’t want any trouble. Just leave her alone.” Matt’s breath caught when he heard that voice. No. Just— _no_.

Foggy. That was Foggy, Foggy was in trouble. Matt was full-on sprinting now, and he was gripping his cane so hard his nails bit into his palms.

Matt could hear everything that was happening, and he knew things were going to escalate very soon. Whoever Foggy was up against made a move to shove him again so Foggy lifted his arms to block his aggressor, but that was a mistake. The sound that came out of Foggy after taking a punch to his side turned Matt’s veins to ice.

Foggy was doubled over, clutching his abdomen and writhing in pain by the time Matt reached them.

“Leave them alone,” he all but snarled and gnashed his teeth.

More taunting laughter, louder this time. “What’re you going to do, use your cane and play piñata with me?”

“Matt?! What’re you—” Foggy didn’t get a chance to complete his question, because he just had the wind knocked out of him and Matt pounced on the guy without warning, landing a swift blow to his chin. He was counting on the jerk to underestimate him, which he did, and that was how he ended up flat on his back, stunned.

That deep, dark part of Matt that always felt like it could swallow him whole wanted to hit the bully again, to make the asshole who hurt Foggy, _his_ Foggy, hurt a million times worse than how he'd hurt his best friend. His fists itched for that satisfying moment when flesh met bone but he was afraid of the consequences if he gave in to the urge.

The jerk recovered quickly, spewing a string of expletives as he struggled to get up. Matt pressed the end of his cane onto the guy’s chest, hard, then gave a cold smile that bared all his teeth and none of the warmth a smile was supposed to convey. “Stay down,” he growled, voice low and full of menace.

Matt widened his smile when he heard a gulp. He lowered his face until his nose was almost touching the guy’s, who, by this point, reeked of alcohol and fear. Sour and bitter. “If you push your weight around like that again, trust that I will know, and I'll make what you got tonight feel like a tickle.” Matt eased up, smirked, and listened as the coward ran down the street as fast as he could.

He turned around to Foggy and the girl, who had helped Foggy up. “You two OK?”

“Y-yeah,” her voice shook, but other than that she sounded fine. “He followed me out of the bar after I turned him down, and— and starting getting aggressive. If you hadn’t shown up when you did,” she looked at Foggy, “I…it doesn’t matter now. Thank you, both of you” she said. She gave Foggy’s arm an appreciative squeeze before walking away.

“Foggy,” Matt propped him up, draping Foggy’s arm over his neck. He reached out to where Foggy was hit, but drew his arm back at the last second. “Was this where you got hit?” He asked, indicating to Foggy’s side.

“Yup. It doesn’t hurt so much now, so that’s good,” Foggy panted. They- or Foggy, rather, hobbled in silence the one and a half blocks back to campus.

Matt grabbed a bag of frozen peas and wrapped it in a towel once they got back. He lifted the corner of Foggy’s shirt and pressed it to his side, who hissed at the pressure against his injury.

“Sorry,” Matt apologized, guilt flitting across his face for a second.

Foggy waved a hand. “No, It’s— I wasn’t expecting it to ache so much. You’re really good at this, by the way.”

“I used to take care of the younger kids at St Agnes,” he said with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Sheesh, did a lot of the kids get into fights or something? Because you’re beyond crazy good at this. Like a, ‘just one touch and you know where my injuries are’ savant, actually.” Matt smiled as he continued to press the bag of peas to Foggy’s side, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t about to start talking about the injuries he got when Stick trained him.

Foggy’s heart wasn’t beating as fast as it was back at the alley, but it also wasn’t the steady rhythm that Matt had grown accustomed to, the one that he had come to rely on.  
“Foggy? A-are you OK?”

“As OK as one could be after a beating. Why?”

“You still seem a little... scared? Or, I don’t know, excited,” he rushed the last part out.

“Meh, probably just riding out the aftershocks or something, I guess. It’s been a long time since I last got my ass handed to me.”

“Oh.”

“Speaking of scares, you were pretty scary back there, especially when your voice got all _growly_ and low. I’ve never seen you go all... beast mode before.” A hint of amusement crept into his voice.

He bit his lip. “He was hurting you, Foggy, I had to do something.” 

“So, turns out this puppy's got some serious bite, eh?” Foggy grinned.

The corners of his lips tugged upward as the little knot in his chest loosened. “So you aren’t afraid of me?”

“Of you? No. For you? Probably, when we factor in the fact that you only sleep like, four hours a night.” Foggy tapped Matt on the knuckles. “Hey. How’d you learn to hit like that?”

Matt shrugged. “Dad never wanted me to fight, but I couldn’t help picking up a thing or two. Used to spend several afternoons at the gym where he trained.”

“Well for what it’s worth you saved my ass back there. So thank you,” Foggy patted Matt’s arm.

“The bruise should heal in a few days. Try not to move too much in the meantime. Do you need anything? Extra pillows? Blankets? Soup?”

Foggy chuckled, but promptly stopped with a grimace. “Ow. Matt- I’m bruised, not dying. I’ll be fine.”

Matt blinked for a few seconds before he nodded. He was going to make sure Foggy got the best care he deserved. “OK.”

“OK?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. He got up, took Junior from his bed and put it next to Foggy’s side. “Here. I’ll go make us some tea,” he said, because he couldn’t just sit and do nothing even though he didn’t know how else to get Foggy more comfortable.

Based on Matt’s limited experience, hot beverages (and cuddles with stuffed animals, as he was starting to discover) were just about the only things that made him feel better, and he’d be damned if he didn’t try everything at least once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: the flu fiasco


	7. Sniffles and suds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The delightfully wonderful [Bravinto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bravinto/pseuds/bravinto) made a gorgeous illustration for the scene at the end of this chapter and it is PERFECT. [Go check it out](http://bravinto.tumblr.com/post/135807628272/done-as-promised-an-illustration-to-the-super) :)  
> I'm still squeeing over it (and someone's ASSet).

“I’m _fine_ ,” Matt insisted for the umpteenth time but Foggy was having none of it.

“And the award for understatement of the year goes to Matt Murdock,” Foggy deadpanned. “C’mon buddy, just stay in bed and let me fuss over you like a proper Nelson. You said you were fine this morning—which was two classes ago— but you’re still in your jammies and hunched over your table as if Quasimodo took a desk job.”

Matt simply made a low grumbling noise which was probably meant as a rebuttal of sorts.

“I have made some excellently detailed notes so you can quit stressing about falling behind. Just take the rest of the day to rest, dude, come on. I’m supporting my argument with an intensely concerned gaze and slightly furrowed brows, if you must know.”

“But I don’t want to get you sick too,” Matt protested, a stricken look on his face that Foggy wanted to chuck tea and pastries at if he wasn’t so (OK fine, mildly) frustrated with his stubborn roommate.

“I thought you said you were fine?”

“I meant I can still function like a—”

“Like a zombie. You look _horrible_ , Matt. You’re so pale that paint shops would jump at the chance to give that shade of undead-ness a name, your skin’s clammy and your breathing sounds all wheezy.”

“I had a little fever this morning but it’s better now. And that sound’s just phlegm and stuff, Foggy.” He scrunched his face into something grumpy and sniffled with all the dignity he could muster.

“I’m betting that fever was anything but little. But whatever. Nurse Nelson is in the house and he’s not taking no for an answer.” He wasn’t going to budge on this one.

“The mind controls the body and the body controls our enemies- the flu bug, in this case.” Matt said with conviction. “I just need to push through all this.”

“Yeeeeah, no. I don’t know what cheesy kung-fu after school special that was from, but no. No amount of willpower is gonna chase the flu away. You’ll have to rest if you want to get better.”

Matt sulked and crossed his arms. “You are relentless.” Foggy took that as a victory.

He gave Matt an aspirin just to make sure the fever was gone for good, but Matt still looked a little (OK, a lot) sluggish a couple hours later. “I think you need some energy or potassium or something. Can’t be surviving on instant oatmeal alone.” Foggy got up and grabbed his jacket. “I’m gonna get bananas from the supermart, be back in an hour.”

“I don’t need-”

“ _Potassium!_ ” He rushed out before Matt could get another word in.

Foggy returned with bananas and chicken soup, the one from the shop Matt wouldn’t admit to liking. As if no one would notice his deliberately slowed pace and deep inhalations whenever they walked by the place.

“You’re not doing that perky puppy thing? Huh. That flu must really have your bloodhound senses beat if you didn’t pick up on what I’ve got for you.”

“What’d you get?”

“The chicken soup from that place that always makes you drool. But only if you promise you've been a good patient.”

Matt broke out a sudden grin and sat bolt straight. “I have! I promise.” Foggy snorted.

“How’re you feeling now?” Foggy asked, several hours later.

Matt grunted and nodded.

“See! I told you rest helps!” Foggy said, all triumphant.

“More like chicken soup,” Matt muttered.

“Pfft. I know you know I’m right, Murdock. And don’t pretend like you don’t love me for it.” He teased.

“Why can’t you let me stew in denial for awhile?” Matt crossed his arms. He knew he shouldn’t, and that it would be horribly immature of him, but he slipped out a pout.

“Wait, are you… _pouting_??” the laughter in Foggy’s voice was impossible to ignore.

“Am not,” Matt grumbled. He didn’t bother with a convincing lie, because it didn’t count as a lie if Foggy saw through it.

Matt still sounded like a clogged pipe so Foggy made him take some Nyquil before bed. He made a face swallowing the syrup. “Uck, horrible.”

“I know, buddy,” Foggy patted Matt’s shoulder. “You’d think the industry would spend a portion of their billions on better taste. Here, I made a little honey tea for you to wash it all down.”

Matt made a pleased noise as he emptied the mug.

“Will you read me a story?” Matt asked a while later. Junior, which usually sat in a corner of his bed, was now conveniently tucked under his arm.

Foggy had a hard time reconciling the goofy, stuffy-nosed Matt Murdock before him with the dude who was capable of knocking out a full grown man. He also had a hard time not thinking about when the last time anyone had tucked Matt into bed was, because Matt just looked so...suffice to say it was pushing all his mother hen buttons big time, but that was not a thought Foggy needed to have at the moment because he was _this_ close from turning on the waterworks.

“What do you have in mind?”

Matt made a vague waving gesture.

“OK then. I’ll read you ‘Go the Fuck to Sleep’, just for kicks.” Matt gave a soft, groggy smile and nodded. Foggy read the entire story from his phone while Matt giggled after every other sentence. Yeah, the Nyquil was definitely working.

“I like the world according to Foggy Nelson,” Matt mumbled drowsily once Foggy reached the end, one arm still around the stuffed dinosaur. Foggy grinned. It was going to be hard to top himself next Christmas.

“Yeah?”

“...nice...colorful...” Matt said between yawns.

Foggy smiled. “Any and all compliments are always welcome. Sleep tight, Matty,” he whispered, brushing some of his friend’s slightly matted hair off his forehead, which earned him a hum that almost sounded like a purr.

Matt’s bed was empty when Foggy woke up the next morning. _Shit, where w_ — oh, right. Matt was probably at one of the few classes they didn’t have in common, the ones that started at ungodly hours— at least to Foggy, anyway.

Foggy ran a hand over his face, groaning as he stood up and stretched. His joints popped and he felt all sludgy inside. After tucking Matt into bed he rushed out the final draft for a paper due this afternoon. Ugh. Punjabi could take a backseat today— Foggy was going to treat himself to a nice, relaxing bath after he’d made his submission; bonus if he fell asleep to the soothing aromas of lavender foam.

 

*

Matt felt better, but the improvement was slight. He couldn’t smell anything, there was a dull but insistent throbbing in his head, his hearing was horribly muffled— basically he felt like he was in a cocoon of misery. Oh well. At least the fever was gone.

The only upside to a blocked nose was that he couldn’t smell how rank he was, since the last shower he had was more than a day ago. He was feeling icky and in dire need of a warm shower. Maybe that would help clear his head, too.

“Foggy? Foggy.” Listening to heartbeats was out, and he didn’t want to strain his other senses. The throbbing made it hard to focus on anything, anyway. “Foggy?” Huh. Foggy was probably out with Marci or something. He couldn’t stop gushing about how fun and cool she was for a week after their first coffee date.

Matt had met her a couple of times but he never hung around for long because he didn’t want to feel like a third wheel. Also, there was something about the no-nonsense way she grabbed whatever she wanted by the balls that intimidated him. Sure, that kind of drive deserved admiration, but it mostly just scared him.

Matt disrobed, slung his towel over his shoulder and went into the bathroom. Either Foggy was just in here or he was more out of it than he presumed, because everything felt so steamy and humid that it was hard to breathe.

Ugh, gross. The tub was still filled. Seriously, even if he was in a hurry, would it have killed Foggy to pull the drain stopper out? Matt grimaced as he reached into the foam to feel around for the—

“AHHHHH! WHAT—!” Foggy’s yell was so sharp and high pitched it actually hurt.

“ARGHHH!” Matt yelled back, thrown off by the shock of Foggy’s (very smooth) thigh and shriek. He lost his footing and slipped, bracing for the impact that falling face first into a tub full of bubble bath and a naked Foggy would bring.

His arms flailed in one last vain attempt to break his fall but it just made things worse, because they ended up in a mess of soapy water and tangled limbs. Both of them were spluttering by the time Foggy managed to push Matt to one end of the tub, their towels soaking wet in the whole fiasco.

“What the hell just happened??” Foggy asked after he jumped out, the bewilderment in his voice shrill.

“I thought y-you were out! I called you a couple times but there was no answer!” Matt said, clutching onto his towel for dear life.

“I was asleep!”

“I know that now!”

Embarrassed mumbles were exchanged, blushes abounded and clothes were finally put on.

“No one can know about this. Ever.”

“A-agreed,” Matt nodded. The throbbing in his head was gone. Well, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhoh, trouble's a-coming!


	8. We’re OK

Hell week. It was definitely hell week when three deadlines and two debates (each of them ten percent of the grade) were due by the end of that week. It was only Wednesday, but it already felt like the week had been looped thrice. Matt hadn’t slept for close to three days, save for a few half hour naps, and Foggy had been running on eight hours of sleep for the last 32 hours. Everything felt shitty and unnecessary and everyone was cranky. 

Things came to a head when Foggy spied Matt nodding off at his desk again and made the poor, sleep-deprived choice of picking that moment to comment (in a slightly snippy tone that rubbed Matt the wrong way) about Matt’s sleeping (or non-sleeping, more likely) habits. Matt knew Foggy meant well but this _really_ wasn’t the best time, when every second not spent working was a second wasted.

“That’s rich, coming from you. I can practically smell the fumes you’re running on right now. And I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of myself, I’ve been doing it since I was a kid,” Matt snapped back. He really didn’t mean to, but if that was what it took to get Foggy to shut up, so be it.

“Oh, so what, I don’t get to speak up when I notice you aren’t taking care of yourself? Because you’re the A+ student who always has to be right and God forbid a B student chip in with some advice?” Foggy’s voice rose.

“Yeah, you don’t get to make any comments about me. You’re not my keeper, and you sure as hell aren’t family. Speaking of which, maybe you should go whine to yours about your insecurities.” Matt didn’t mean to spit the words out, he didn’t mean to be so angry, but exhaustion blew everything out of proportion and things got real personal real fast. Apparently resentments about grades and having a loving family were on the menu.

Foggy’s breath hitched in hurt and shock. Matt knew Foggy wasn’t a competitive guy by nature, but he was aware about how Foggy felt about his grades. He never harped on them, but he always told himself he could do better. It probably didn’t help that he was rooming with the guy who always excelled in every class.

Matt ran a hand through his hair and stood up. Now that guilt was starting to replace his frustrations and petty defensiveness, he felt like a colossal dick. “Foggy— ” he began, but Foggy cut him off before he could fumble with an apology.

“No, you’re right.” Papers crinkled as Foggy shoved a stack of them and his textbooks into his bag, then grabbed his laptop.

“Where’re you going?”

“Out of your hair,” came the brisk reply. Foggy’s little sniffle just before the door slammed shut was the final rock that tumbled down and crushed Matt. His very own mountain of guilt. 

The hollow silence that filled the room that night was unbearable. He missed Foggy, who was probably camping out at Marci’s since she managed to snag a single room. He didn’t know how to apologize or what to say except for “I’m sorry” but even that sounded trivial. Should he give Foggy a call? Text him? Was that too little or too much? Matt was so twisted up about it he didn’t realize he was grinding his knuckles against the side of his head until his scalp throbbed. It was going to leave a bruise. Good. He deserved that. 

The only way Matt knew Foggy stopped by their room several times to pick some of his stuff up was the way the room smelled so much like him after each visit. Count on Foggy to know Matt’s schedule so well he’d managed to avoid him for two whole days. Matt took small comfort in the knowledge that Foggy’s pillow was still on his bed, but every time he came back after a class he half expected to find Foggy’s side of the room bare. After what happened he wouldn’t blame Foggy if he chose to transfer rooms.

Hell week was finally over, but there was none of the joy that usually came with the end of major assignments because there was no one to celebrate with. Matt showered and went straight to bed, not bothering with dinner. 

He was tired but he couldn’t sleep, because the steady, comforting rhythm of his best friend’s heartbeat, the one he’d let himself get so used to, wasn’t there. It wasn’t there to assure him that things were OK, to persuade him to take things easier— it wasn’t there to remind him to take care of himself because he mattered to someone else, because he _was_ family.

Matt reached out, grabbed Junior and pressed it tight against his chest. “I’m sorry Foggy,” he whispered as he rocked back and forth. “I’m so sorry”.

Matt woke the next morning to slightly swollen eyes. Great. He swung his legs off the edge of the bed and— Foggy. Foggy was here. And so were his things.

“Morning, Matt.”

“Foggy? When did you—”

“An hour ago. I made some hot chocolate, if you’d like some.” Foggy sounded...a little sad and nervous, but he was here. Foggy was here. Foggy was speaking to him. Matt wasn’t going to mess up this time.

“S-sure. Thanks, Foggy.”

Foggy sat next to him on his bed, the two of them sipping in silence. Matt turned in Foggy’s direction, biting his lip, fingers itching to pick at the drawstring of his pants. “Foggy, I...” he licked his lips. He could feel Foggy looking at him, his breath light but fast. Matt swallowed thickly but pushed on. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did. You were only trying to help and I got petty. I’m sorry.”

He heard the way Foggy’s breath caught in his throat, the way his voice wobbled when he told Matt not to worry about it, that he was also sorry for meddling. He heard the way Foggy’s heart skipped when he said they were fine, he heard the sadness in Foggy’s lie. Matt heard it all.

He’d never felt more helpless.

Foggy was back, but the following week was filled with painfully polite conversations on both their parts. He spent whatever free time he had in the library or with his study groups, careful to avoid their room as much as possible until it was time for bed. Whatever jokes he cracked were half-hearted and occasionally punctured with hollow laughter. 

Foggy still offered his elbow to Matt whenever they had common classes, but the easy flow and banter had been replaced by stilted awkwardness. The way Foggy’s footsteps quickened every time he left the room and slowed down before returning wasn’t lost on Matt either. The sad note in Foggy’s voice was still there, and it prodded at Matt like a hot poker every time they spoke.

 _Count your blessings,_ Matt chided himself. _You have no right to expect that things would be just like how they were after you broke it. At least Foggy’s still here._ But a tiny part of Matt wondered if it would be better to forget a wonderful thing than to be reminded of it every day.

“Night, Foggy,” Matt said before bed that night, his fingers twitching as they itched to play with the edge of his pillow. He curled them into a fist instead.

“Good night, Matt.” 

He closed his eyes, but the almost overwhelming weight that had crept in since their fight strained against his chest and grew, churning and writhing until it shattered something inside. A choked noise escaped him and before he was fully aware of what was happening, he started to cry. 

Matt curled in on himself as he sobbed and sobbed, completely paralyzed, his blanket tangled around his legs. He didn’t try to stop himself because all of this- this whole deluge of sick guilt and anger at his lack of self-control, was now a torrent that demanded to ride itself out in waves. No amount of embarrassment or composure was going to stand in its way.

“Matt? Shit, shit. What’s wrong, Matt?” Foggy, riding on the fear that coursed through his body, was over by Matt’s side in seconds, his grip on Matt’s shoulder gentle but urgent. Matt tried to answer, but all he managed were hitched wet breaths, too wracked by the sobs to speak.

“Please say something, Matty. You’re really scaring me. Are you hurt? Do you need me to get help?” Foggy’s heart was hammering away but Matt barely heard it over the pounding of his own.

“...screwed up, Foggy. I s-screwed up…so-so sor-sorry.” Matt gritted his teeth and pushed the words out between sobs. 

“Hey, shh, shh. It’s OK, buddy. It’s OK.” Foggy kept repeating himself while he rubbed comforting circles into Matt’s back. 

“I...sh-shouldn’t have said those things...hurtful...” Great. Now the hiccups were here as well.

“It’s OK, Matt. Everyone says things they don’t mean when they get mad. I’m fine, I really am. Please don’t beat yourself up over it?” Foggy’s voice was soft and soothing, but Matt could tell that he was crying too. 

“...you sound sad...know it’s my f-fault.”

“It’s not, buddy, it’s not. I just...take a while to bounce back because I tend to get lost in my head sometimes. I’m sorry if I made things...awkward and uncomfortable. I really didn’t mean to.” Foggy was still rubbing Matt’s back, but he leaned forward and pulled him in so that he was now hugging and soothing him. “Please don’t feel like all this is your fault, OK?”

Matt clung to Foggy and buried his face in his shoulder. He wasn’t all cried out yet, but Foggy’s shirt was getting damp with his tears. “It’s OK, Matty. Let it out. We’re OK, we’re OK. I promise,” Foggy said with a quiet sniffle. Matt was glad he listened hard, because Foggy meant it this time. 

“Feeling better?” Foggy asked several minutes later, after the tears and the hiccups stopped. Matt nodded. 

“Sorry for giving you a scare earlier,” Matt said, absentmindedly fiddling with Junior.

“Nah,” Foggy waved a hand. “I’ve seen worse. Candace used to be a _huuuge_ crier when she was younger. Snot, spit, the works. Don’t ask her about it though, she’ll just deny everything.” He grinned at Matt’s chuckle. 

“You know...” Matt began.

“Hmmm?”

“You weren't too far off when you called yourself the ‘King of comfort cuddles’ awhile back.”

It was Foggy’s turn to laugh. As he enveloped Matt in another bear hug, Matt pressed a rueful smile into Foggy’s shoulder. He squeezed his eyes tight and said a silent prayer of thanks, because Foggy still hadn't realized that he was too good for Matt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things won't be so angsty/feels-y next chapter!


	9. Favorite person

So. According to Foggy, Marci might (or might not, if Matt had any say in this) be the best thing that’s happened to him, because his grades have improved, thanks to her study methods which involved a lot of... _mutual incentives_ after every chapter they quizzed each other on. Not that Foggy ever kissed and told because he’s a _gentleman_ (he always puffed his chest out whenever he called himself that), but Matt’s not an idiot. Also, he could _smell_ it every time Foggy returned, love drunk sigh and textbooks in tow.

It always irked him, how Foggy would come back smelling like Marci's shampoo and perfume and just...Marci all over, like she had marked him; it irked him that Foggy didn't smell like Foggy anymore. It took at least two days before he smelled like himself, like sunshine and mild soap and all the things that spelled out home for Matt, but by then Foggy was usually with Marci again.

Matt didn’t have anything major against Marci, it’s just— he was kinda missing his best friend because he hardly got to hang with Foggy anymore. So yeah, Marci (and their study sessions) might’ve been a good thing for Foggy, but she certainly wasn’t for Matt.

And the thing was, for all the stuff he was tempted to project towards Marci, there was the undisputed truth that she had a big heart. Sure, she didn’t care about as many things as Foggy did, but when she did it was with so much passion even Matt couldn't help admiring.

Marci was a huge advocate for animal welfare and the environment, and Foggy, being the dork in love that he was, supported every cause that she stood for. Matt thought that was admirable at first because he believed in being a good steward of the earth, but it soon got to the point where Matt wanted to put his head through the wall.

First it was the ‘Foster a pet’ program. Foggy agreed to foster a kitten that was blind in one eye for two weeks, even made a little bed out of cardboard for it but the kitten insisted on sleeping with Foggy in his bed.

“Aww, it’s making the most adorable little sounds, Matt! And it’s fur is _so_ soft! Here, feel it!”

“Yeah, it really is,” Matt murmured as his fingers brushed against its soft fur. _What could go wrong?_ he thought, smiling as the kitten purred and rubbed its head against Matt’s hand. Apparently the lesson that nothing good ever comes from that question was still lost on him.

The noises that Foggy found charming and eventually fell asleep to carried on all through the night, every night, even after Foggy fed it before bed. Matt ended up having to feed it milk every two hours because he couldn’t bear to shake Foggy awake. Getting ready for class every morning was such a pain in the ass Matt had to substitute talking with grumpy neanderthal-y grunts instead. And the poop. Ugh, the poop. It was a constant, deliberate assault on his nostrils.

It was the worst two weeks of Matt’s law school life, basically.

Next came the “Go vegan” movement, where Foggy tried, really tried to stick to a vegan diet but he was always hungry so he kinda went on a bean salad rampage because those were the only vegan food on campus that tasted good, according to him. Matt had never heard anyone's digestive tract so gassy before. Also, his farts smelled _really_ bad. Matt had to discreetly rub Vicks vaporub on his nose every time Foggy was in the room.

Then Foggy decided to try this cleansing prune juice smoothie thingamajig but ended up getting the stomach flu instead, groaning in bed all day. Matt was good at fussing over Foggy and watching (ha) him like a hawk and Foggy recovered in a couple of days, but Matt felt bad for enjoying playing doctor a little too much. What? Foggy's nurturing might have rubbed off on him. A little.

Bicycles. It was bicycles this time. Foggy rented a bike and rode it everywhere, but he was a terrible bike rider. No, scratch that. Foggy didn’t know how to ride bikes, period. But he refused to let that stop him from trying to impress Marci, spending a good five hours practicing until he got the hang of it. Well, sorta. He came back with a slight limp and whimpered softly when he sat on his bed. Matt groaned.

“Foggy. You know this has to stop some day, right?”

“What? Being an eco-conscious citizen of the Earth?”

“This whole trying-to-impress-Marci thing.”

“Eh,” Foggy waved a hand. “I know. I’m just trying to enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Just— just don’t get hurt, please?”

“Oh,” Foggy’s voice grew soft. “Sure, buddy. OK.”

Matt made sure Foggy saw his smile. 

Foggy was still peddling that damned bike everywhere after a week. Matt could smell the various scrapes and bruises on Foggy but he kept his damned mouth shut because there was no way to make “I can smell your blood clots and sense your injuries as they stretch against your skin and rub against your clothes” not sound creepy in the slightest way.

So when Foggy offered to give Matt a ride that weekend he jumped at the chance, because he might’ve been planning to offer Foggy some riding lessons anyway. Also that bruise on his butt was particularly disturbing to listen to. Foggy must have fallen off the bike the other day rushing to class.

They took a (very wobbly) ride to the nearby park just because, Matt clutching Foggy’s shoulders a little tighter than he meant to. If Foggy noticed it, he didn’t say anything.

“Hey! Let’s ride down that slope!” Foggy said, a little too excitedly.

“Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea?” 

“Come on! What could go wrong?” Foggy nudged him playfully in the ribs, eliciting a giggle from Matt.

“Hey, I have a better idea,” Matt offered, a smile curling around his words. He hadn't done it since...since forever, but it was such a nice day and Foggy smelled extra sunshine-y and everything felt great so Matt went for it. “How about you let _me_ steer the bike?”

There was a brief pause, before, “um, sure, why not?”

Matt smirked. “No reservations about letting a blind man ride a bike?”

“Eh, you only live once,” Foggy made a waving gesture. “‘sides, it’s not my place to say anything since I’m not that great with them.” Matt snorted at that, earning him a “hey!” from Foggy and another jab in the ribs.

“OK, OK.” Matt said between huffs of laughter. “You’ll be the eyes, I’ll be the arms?”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna hijack the handlebars if we get too near any ducks or pigeons. Not looking forward to having dead birds on my conscience.”

Cut to an hour later and the two of them were in fits of giggles, trying to keep their shrieks as manly and dignified as possible as they rode down various slopes around the park again and again.

Foggy saw a group of elderly ladies giving them quizzical looks as they were preparing to go up a hill for the third time. “Law School,” he told them with a shrug, and they actually nodded with empathetic ‘ _ah_ ’s, bless their hearts. Matt bit on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“So, you gonna tell me how you got so good with a bike?” Foggy asked in between licks of his chocolate ice cream a while later.

“My dad. We used to go to a park just like this and ride around for hours. Can’t really do that now though,” he said, tapping on his glasses. He wanted to add ‘until today’ but settled for a crooked grin instead.

“So. I was thinking,” Matt added quickly, because the way Foggy’s breathing had changed indicated he was probably grasping for something comforting to say since Matt might have come off a little too wistful unintentionally. “If you’d let me teach you how to ride a bike without wobbling like jello? Because the ride here was, um. Not how riding a bike should feel like.” He slipped a smirk into his tease and made a show of peering over his glasses for good measure.

Foggy threw his head back and laughed, bright and carefree, and Matt filed that sound away as something he'd like to be the cause of again.

Matt didn’t have to spend too much time on the basics since Foggy was already teetering around campus, so he focused on helping him with balance and momentum instead. He tried his best to remember the tricks and analogies his dad used and taught them to Foggy, who caught on fairly quickly, because of course Jack Murdock was a good coach. He smiled at that memory.

“Oh my god. Matt! I can’t believe I’m finally doing this properly!” Foggy crowed and whooped over his shoulder, giddy with excitement and delight as he peddled further away from Matt before circling back to him. "You’re an excellent teacher!" He was panting slightly and the heat in his face probably meant he was ruddy in the cheeks. Matt got a little melancholic wishing he could see Foggy right that moment but another whoop brought him out of it. “Seriously, you should consider teaching kids how to cycle on weekends or something. I bet you could make a small fortune. Plus, I bet you’d be a hit with the soccer mums. I’m waggling my eyebrows at you, Murdock.”

“Foggy,” he protested with a poorly concealed chuckle. Foggy came to a stop next to him.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m _starving_." His stomach growled and Foggy quickly rubbed his hand over it, neglecting to narrate any of that. Matt pressed his lips into a line but the edges twitched upwards, especially since it reminded him of Foggy's vegan phase. "Please tell me you didn't hear that," Foggy said, the warmth in his cheeks signalling something different this time.

"Hear what?" Matt raised up an upturned palm with a shrug, still struggling to keep his lips under control.

"You, dear sir, are a horrible liar." Foggy sighed as he shook his head. Matt laughed and put an arm on Foggy's shoulder, pulling him closer. Foggy chuckled under his breath.

"Say, why don’t I get us back?” the eagerness in Foggy's voice impossible to ignore.

“Lead the way,” Matt beamed.

So, OK. Marci still might not be high on Matt’s list of people he liked, but he owed her one. Probably. After all, he got to spend a great day in the park and got to ride a bike again— with his best friend— and favorite person, no less.


	10. Together

Matt’s glasses fell apart a couple of weeks before their internship at Landman and Zack was slated to begin. He fiddled with the tiny screws on the hinges, then got Foggy to help when they felt loose again. 

Foggy tried to make his suggestion of getting new glasses sound as casual as possible, because three years of living with Matt had taught him a handful of things, one of them being that Matt always got weirdly frugal when it came to buying things for himself. Foggy knew about Matt’s not-so-secret stash of silk underwear about three months after their first Christmas, but they were pretty much the only things that Matt didn’t scrimp on.

Matt hummed in faux thoughtfulness, as if he was legitimately considering Foggy’s suggestion and hadn’t already shot it down. Foggy rolled his eyes and blew out a half-hearted laugh through his nose. That earned him a frown from Matt which he promptly pretended not to notice. 

Whatever. Matt needed a new pair of glasses, and it would only be a matter of time before he agreed with Foggy. He figured interning at a prestigious law firm with duct taped glasses was an image even Matt would find hard not to cringe at.

When Foggy’s mum wouldn’t stop fussing with him to get a new haircut before the internship started Candace jokingly mentioned a website that let you try on different looks. He caved after two days, looked it up and oh— he could hug his brilliant, snarky little sister. Not that he’d ever admit it aloud, of course; Candace was never one to receive compliments with grace.

“What's so amusing?” Matt quirked an eyebrow up. He was, as always, engaged in _‘leisurely reading’_. Foggy always rolled his eyes at that expression because typical leisure reading never involved so many repetitions of words like “constitution” and “judicial” but then again, Matt was never ordinary, was he?

“Nothing much,” Foggy said, aiming for casual but missing it by a mile. Poorly hiding secrets behind a thin, giggly veneer was more his speed. He shouldn’t have clicked on the next style— he really shouldn’t, because when his abysmally suppressed laughter slipped out he sounded like a goat in heat (bored afternoons and Youtube were why he even knew such things). Matt sporting a purple mullet and star-shaped glasses was quite the sight to behold.

“That’s not a ‘nothing much’ laugh,” the mirth that crept into Matt’s voice unmistakable.

“How would you feel about a purple mullet?” Foggy was beyond trying to keep laughter out of his reply now.

“Huh?”

“You know how mum’s been nagging about my hair?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a website that lets you try on different looks. You, my friend, are currently rockin’ one of the 80's biggest regrets.”

“And judging from your laughter I’m guessing it looks horrible?” Matt leaned forward, the book on his lap now completely forgotten.

Foggy nodded. “Alas, not even your features in all their otherworldly beauty can stand against the horror that was fashion in the 80's.” He decided not to tell Matt about the glasses yet.

The day eventually came when Matt’s glasses broke- into clean halves that were beyond any means of salvaging. “Aww man,” Matt mumbled, staring down miserably, broken glasses in his hands. 

Ugh, crud. Not that face again. Foggy would never understand how Matt could go from lawyer-shark ‘my grin is a flashing blade’ to a sad-faced bundle in need of cuddles in a heartbeat. Somewhere during their second year he stopped feeling so self aware staring at Matt’s face because it became second nature, and by the third year he had familiarised himself with most of Matt’s mannerisms and expressions. 

There were still a few things about Matt that Foggy couldn’t quite decipher, but that was OK. He told himself that there would still be time to discover the enigma that was one Matt Murdock, because Foggy couldn’t deny the secret pride and privilege that swelled up whenever Matt puttered around without his glasses when it was just them, or when he knew exactly what Matt was thinking just from the crease between his brows or those pursed lips. Matt hardly opened up to anyone, which only made everything that Foggy knew about him priceless.

It was OK, there’d still be time, Foggy would remind himself. But then the end of their final semester loomed ahead like a brick wall and he was hurtling towards it with nothing in his path to slow him down or cushion the eventual impact. Foggy’s reminder began to wither and a bitter taste lodged itself at the back of his throat.

“Alright, Murdock. Come on. We’re going shopping.” Foggy handed Matt his cane.

“Right now?” Matt asked, wrinkling his nose in mild confusion.

“Yes right now. You’re gonna make me weep if I have to keep looking at that face.”

Matt made a small noise of protest but shrugged his coat on without another word.

“Damn,” Foggy gaped, impressed, and then “excellent choice, Nelson,” under his breath. The current pair of glasses Matt had on made the past half hour with Connie the crabby shopkeeper worth it. 

“What?” 

“You remember that website I was tell you about the other day? The one where you could change your looks?” Matt nodded.

“Turns out hairstyles weren’t the only things they let you play around with,” Foggy grinned. Matt frowned, the glasses making him look all serious business. “Anyway. Your face was stupid compatible with _a lot_ of different frames but you, my friend, look damn fine in these. They’re silver and round and the lenses are tinted dark red. It’s all very...devilish.” He smirked and threw in “very you” at the end.

“Is that so, counselor?” Matt played along, voice dropping low and flashing that sharp smile. OK, that was ...yup, he was definitely making Matt get these glasses if that was the last thing he did. 

“Stop that. You’re making Connie blush. Isn’t that right, Connie?” Foggy looked at the lady and waggled his eyebrows.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You getting them or not?” Matt let out a tiny huff of laughter and for a brief moment there Foggy wondered if she was somehow related to Josie. Hey, smaller miracles have happened. Plus their jawlines were kinda similar. Foggy couldn’t be too sure about that though, he was usually tipsy within fifteen minutes of walking through the door and he never dared to stare at Josie for more than three seconds at a time.

“How do they feel, Matt?” 

“Better than my old pair, actually,” Matt nudged the bridge of his glasses up with his index finger and wiggled his nose. The relief that his nerdy dork of a best friend was still there, beneath all that suave exterior hit Foggy out of nowhere. Uncovering a pool of latent worry in the pit of his stomach that Matt would go all shiny and chrome and ride off into the sunset with...not him was the last thing Foggy needed at some Sunglass Hut lookalike. Wait. What the hell was he thinking? Of course his best friend would still be there. This was _Matt_ , for crying out loud. The same Matt who tried his best at wingmanning, who punched an asshat for him, who got too clingy after three beers. 

The anxieties of leaving Columbia weighed down more than Foggy expected. After all, he was leaving habits and people that had come to form a cocoon of familiarity. The only thing that managed to keep a lid on his swirling mess of emotions was the assurance that he would still get to see Matt every day during their internship. Foggy actually cried in relief when his acceptance letter from L & Z came two days after Matt’s. 

He had excused himself and made up some half-assed excuse before bolting for their bathroom, too embarrassed to admit that the idea of a future without Matt in it scared the shit out of him, because Matt was...yes, he felt things deeply, but he was great at the whole lone wolf thing and being independent and he probably never needed Foggy to make it big in this world in the first place. Sometimes, in those moments before he fell asleep, the thought that maybe he needed Matt more than Matt needed him would flit across and sting like a paper cut.

Things always had a way of working themselves out, and Foggy was lucky the chips fell in his favor this time. They found a nearby apartment with a four month lease after their internship letters arrived and agreed to keep looking for another place to tide them through the remaining two months of their internship. Then Foggy’s dad took them shopping because he knew a friend who knew someone who sold pretty decent suits at a good discount. So yeah, his world wasn’t about to spin off its axis just yet.

“Ah, the gentleman has spoken! In that case, Connie, we’ll take them.” Foggy winked, triumphant smile in tow. He would keep smiling and joking until that stupid pool of worry evaporated.

“Good choice,” Connie grunted. “Have a nice day,” she said, and somehow managed to inject all the dryness of the Saharan desert into her words.

Dinner that night was pleasant, or as pleasant as soda and lukewarm Thai takeout could be. Foggy made his usual jokes, then tried to throw mini spring rolls into Matt’s mouth because Matt insisted that he could catch them— he caught two out of five, fair enough. 

Fine nights like such felt bittersweet now that they were trickling out like the last few grains of sand in an hourglass, and Foggy was afraid this was one hourglass he wouldn’t be able to flip over once time was up. He thought back to that night a couple months back, when they were tipsy and Matt was in a particularly cheeky mood, tripping him with his cane and teasing him about his Punjabi skills. 

Foggy made a joke about being avocados at law, but he meant every word when he brought up the idea of starting their own law firm. Then Matt corrected him, putting Foggy’s last name before his, and Foggy had never felt so warm and hopeful before. Matt made no further mention of Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law after that night, so Foggy decided to drop the subject. It was probably the warm fuzzies from the alcohol talking, or some and such. It wouldn’t be fair to Matt to bring it up and get him stuck in something he casually suggested, just because he felt guilty.

After dinner Matt suggested making a blanket fort “for old times’ sake”, and Foggy couldn’t say no. He didn’t realize he was worrying the edge of his blanket until Matt called him out on it. Foggy dropped the blanket immediately but he couldn’t quite get his fingers to stop twitching.

“You’re gonna rip a hole in the fabric if you keep raking your nails over it,” Matt’s face was carefully blank but Foggy knew the question that lay behind it. Not to mention Matt had his head tilted in that way where he was trying to figure something out. 

“Whoops. Must be all that sodium from dinner. Wait, can sodium get you jittery?” Foggy wasn’t going to cave so easily this time. He waved a hand and squeezed out a lazy hmph for good measure after Matt shrugged.

Apparently Matt wasn’t going to budge, either. “Foggy, is something bothering you?”

“What? No,” Foggy said, but it sounded like a drawn out _naaaw_ instead. “Don’t you remember the fun we had today? I think I even got Connie to smile at one point, if the cracks in her makeup along her mouth were anything to go by.”

“You were pretty quiet after that, and...and you sounded sad during dinner. Your laughter, it sounded sad.” Matt’s face was still unreadable. Foggy had every intention of saying something to ease Matt’s concern, he was just trying to decide between a joke and an excuse, when Matt cut him off.

“Were you crying the other day? After— after you received the letter about our internship?”

“What?” Foggy’s shoulders froze up.

“Your voice cracked before you ran off to the bathroom, and I didn’t want to pry,” at least Matt looked apologetic now. That blank expression was starting to get unnerving, especially when he was on the receiving end. Foggy tried to work himself out of Matt’s question because it wouldn’t be fair if he told the truth to Matt, it really wouldn’t—

“Foggy. You’re doing it again,” Matt’s voice was so soft, and if Foggy had any doubts that maybe this wasn’t Matt pleading— for the truth, for Foggy to just _stop_ — the look on Matt’s face shut it all down.

Foggy sighed.

“It’s just. Silly stuff, Matt. I still get stuck in my head more than I’d like to.”

Matt nodded, prompting him to continue. Fine. If he was going to feel stupid in front of anyone, it might as well be his best friend. Foggy talked, and once he started he could stop. He told Matt everything— why he cried when he got the letter, his fears about them drifting apart when—not if, but _when_ —success took Matt on a journey different from his own, everything. He pushed the burning in his throat down as he talked about Nelson and Murdock, watched as Matt listened to everything with the vulnerability of a child, and reiterated multiple times that he didn’t want Matt to tie himself down to someone else’s dream out of guilt or obligation. Foggy wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he was the reason why Matt never got to make his dad proud.

Foggy was proud of himself for not crying when he got to the end. His heart was beating fast, but he was a big boy, he would deal with all his emotions later. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t— That wasn’t fair to unload on you. You don’t have to say anything,” Foggy turned to crawl out of their blanket fort. Goodbyes were inevitable, and six months would fly by in the blink of an eye. The sooner he accepted that, the better. 

“Foggy,” Matt reached out and grabbed his elbow. “Foggy.” 

“It’s OK, Matty. You don’t—”

“Foggy, _please_.” Something in Matt’s voice made him stop and turn around. Matt bit his lip before he continued. “I’m scared too, Foggy. I’m scared that _you’ll_ be the one sailing off because you’re brilliant and kind and wonderful whereas I’m just...me,” he said with a sad twitch of the shoulder.

“After dad...you’re the best thing in my life right now. I’ve never had a friend like you before. You cared for me when no one else gave a shit. You make me better, lighter, I like who I am when I’m with you, and I like that I get to laugh again—I never laughed after dad died, you know? You make me feel like there’s hope again.” A small smile snaked its way onto Matt’s face. “You helped me realize all this within the first month of knowing you. And my answer is yes. I meant it, everything I said about Nelson and Murdock. I never talked about it because...I figured at least this way I got to hold on to the fantasy, untainted by truth.”

Foggy couldn’t move, he couldn't— The whole spiel he’d built in his head about dealing with his emotions crumbled, and his tears fell. 

It wasn’t Foggy who leaned over and wrapped strong arms over shoulders, who carded gentle fingers through hair, who pulled his best friend into a warm, tight embrace this time. No. This time, it was all Matt. 

Foggy blinked once, still too tangled in the gossamer threads of sleep to remember exactly when it was before the both of them fell asleep under their canopy of blankets. Matt was curled tightly against Foggy’s side, head tucked under Foggy’s chin, while one of his legs draped over Matt’s. Foggy shifted to get Matt’s hair out of his mouth and smiled when Matt made a sleepy noise in protest.

“I love you, buddy” Foggy said faintly, eyelids drooping again.

“Love you, Foggy” Matt mumbled in return but it came out more like a jumbled group of vowels.

Yup, they were gonna make a difference someday, the two of them, avocados at law. 

Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to be an honorary Nelson and smother me with comments. Also, feel free to come by [tumblr](http://ellicelluella.tumblr.com/) and gush about our darling a **bro** cados <3


End file.
